


the truth is like blood underneath your fingernails

by Anonymous



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Established Relationship, Insomnia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22722607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tonight, he wakes up to an empty bed. The clock on the wall shows it’s nearly 3 a.m and the coldness of where Joshua’s body should be engraved on the mattress tells him he’s been awake for a while.Finding him is not hard, at least. Because they know each other. Because Minghao knows.
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65
Collections: Anonymous





	the truth is like blood underneath your fingernails

**Author's Note:**

> this is a commission for @seothighs on twitter, again!! i really hope you enjoy this one too, altho it's angsty, and from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Joshua has been acting weird lately.

Weirder than he usually is at times, quieter than normal, paler than usual. 

He’s been talking less about random stuff at night, when all Minghao wants to do is sleep but Joshua is speaking so passionately he wants to hear it. He’s a lullaby, almost. And losing that means losing sleep too. 

Tonight, he wakes up to an empty bed. The clock on the wall shows it’s nearly 3 a.m and the coldness of where Joshua’s body should be engraved on the mattress tells him he’s been awake for a while. 

Finding him is not hard, at least. Because they know each other. Because Minghao knows. 

Joshua is leaning against the rail of their tumbledown balcony, with dead cacti and a variety of fake plants. In his hands, there’s a metal piece that Minghao quickly recognizes as his necklace and his eyes are fixed on the dazzling half moon, shining. Minghao wishes he could do something, but knows his attempts are futile, they have always been. 

“You okay?”

He merely nods. For Minghao, it’s enough.

They stay silent, staring at the starry night, a clear dark blue sky with a splatter of whites and shades of blue. It’s like a piece of art, something that Minghao would paint if he had the time and motivation, but right now, there’s none of that. He stares, lovingly, at Joshua—and wonders what must be going on inside his head.

But it’s been a mystery since they’ve started dating. And Minghao has already had a though time at the start.

“I really do love you, you know that?” Joshua says. Although he doesn’t look at Minghao, the words go straight to his heart, stabbing it forcefully. In a good way. 

“I know, hyung, I know,” he replies and hugs him from behind. He’s cold. 

It’s cold. 

-

It doesn’t happen just one time, or two, or three. 

Continuously, Joshua wakes up in the middle of the night and either stays at the balcony freezing to death, or stares at a half-filled cup of tea in the kitchen. Minghao is now used to waking up, too, at random times during the night, in search of Joshua’s whereabouts. But the worry starts to set in.

It’s not like Joshua is the best sleeper, either, being a light one, and he’s never in bed for more than eight hours, so Minghao doesn’t make a fuss out of it until he realizes that, for the past week, Joshua has only been sleeping four to three hours. And, that, he will not allow.

“Hey,” while preparing coffee, he says, “can we talk?”

The cup of coffee burns his fingers so he rushes to the table to put it down quickly, and then gazes up at Joshua who looks at him with stars in his eyes. And behind them, a hidden world that Minghao hasn’t been able to uncover yet.

“Mh?”

“Can we talk?”

As the steam from the mug fogs his glasses up, Joshua seems to react and give an answer, although Minghao loses the chance to see his reaction.

“What happened?”

“You haven’t been sleeping,” he starts, “and I’m worried, y’know, I know you don’t want to worry others and that includes _me_ , but I can’t let you go on like this.”

“I am sleeping,” it’s what he replies, “maybe I can’t sleep at night but it doesn’t mean anything, Hao.”

“But—”

“Trust me, I know it’ll pass.”

Minghao does. Always. Trust is essential. 

-

The next night, Minghao allows Joshua to get up and leave from the bed at 3:04 a.m exactly, pretending to be asleep. He hears slow movements and then the window opening and closing. 

As much as he tries, he can’t go back to sleep, so he remains lying down on the bed while counting down the minutes until Joshua is back with only a noise from the balcony door as a warning. 

He’s so cold Minghao fears for his life. 

“Mhh, you’re cold,” he mumbles, keeping up the act, all sleepy and cuddly as Joshua usually likes him to be. “You were out?”

“I was,” he murmurs, covers himself, and allows Minghao to embrace him entirely. Joshua gets lost somewhere in his chest, and their thoughts remain hidden in their heads. 

“Next time, take a coat with you,” Minghao says against his hair. It smells like vanilla, and coconut too, so he probably used both shampoos. “You’re too cold.”

“Cold makes me sleepy.” 

“Then it’s okay.”

Because for Minghao, it’s enough. 

-

“Your tea will go cold,” Minghao warns him. Joshua is reading a book about astrology, which seems to be a topic he’s interested in lately, and gives Minghao a bit more of hope. 

“Sorry,” he says, closes the book, and stares at the tea again. “I like it cold anyways.”

Minghao rolls his eyes. Sometimes, he wonders if _he_ is the older in their relationship, but then Joshua takes care of adult tasks like taxes and he’s amazed at how good he is at being a grown up. So liking his tea cold just because he wants to read a book won’t make him a child (but he is sometimes, undeniably, and those are moments Minghao cherishes the most).

“You’re such a baby,” he comments, offhandedly, and smiles to himself. Joshua still stares at his tea. 

“Do you think I’m dirty?” 

That throws him off guard. Minghao turns around and inspects Joshua, who’s wearing a simple white shirt and gray sweatpants. They’re clean, because he’s the cleanest out of them, he sometimes takes three showers a day, and wears perfume to sleep. So he doesn’t quite get where the question comes from, exactly. 

“What? You are, you always are,” Minghao chuckles, “why?”

“Oh, nothing, I just forgot I had to run errands and changing takes time.”

Minghao looks at him in the eye, sees the love and affection, and smiles to himself. But nods and turns around again. “Then put on a jacket and go.”

Hearing fumbling behind him, keys being grabbed, and a simple “Goodbye” shouted from the main hallway at him, Minghao doesn’t even get a last look before Joshua disappears. 

The tea remains intact on the table, and Minghao confirms Joshua is acting weirder than _weird_ .   
  
\-   
  
The problem begins, Minghao reflects, when the affection and contact slowly ceases. 

Joshua is a very touchy-feely person, he kisses Minghao’s cheeks every morning, before leaving, after dinner, when watching a movie. He pinches them, too. Plays with his hair and compliments its softness. It’s easy to detect any changes in routines like these, so the first time Joshua doesn’t kiss his cheek before leaving to work, he worries.

As dumb as it might be, Minghao becomes alarmed. Yet, he doesn’t connect any dots. Just allows it to slip until—it happens again. 

“Bye,” Joshua says, smartly avoiding Mingha’s face nearing his. The door closes, and Minghao feels his heart falling. 

There’s something wrong. 

During dinner, Joshua doesn’t talk as much, sports dark circles under his eyes, and leaves his plate half full.

“You’re not eating that?” Minghao asks, at this point, distressed. 

“I’m just—full, but it was delicious as always,” he smiles. A smile that only pains Minghao more. Of course, his eyes will always glint, will always show Minghao pure love and nothing else. But his actions show otherwise.

And there’s something _wrong_.

-

Now, Joshua seems unable to kiss him on the lips. 

There have been some cheek kisses that filled Minghao with pride and warmth, but the first time Minghao leans in to kiss him, Joshua moves away. He evades his mouth at all costs, and doesn’t do it discreetly at all. 

No matter how disappointing it is, Minghao attempts to show no reaction. Lays back on the couch and the single tear that falls is quickly wiped away by his hand. At this point, Minghao is starting to feel worthless. 

So it’s not only wrong, but _bad_. 

“Can we talk?” Second time in the past three weeks that Minghao utters those words. He wishes he didn’t have to, he wishes he could say them with a different tone, instead of a serious, sorrowful one. Wishes, and wishes, but each day, Joshua walks away from him a bit farther. 

“Yes, of course,” he puts his book down and looks at Minghao. The distance between them in the couch goes unnoticed by him, but all Minghao has been thinking about is how usually he leans on his shoulder or crossed legs to read.

Now, Joshua sits on the end of the couch. 

“You’re mad at me or something?”

Joshua frowns. “Why would I be?”

“Because you’re avoiding me…” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Joshua continues with a puzzled expression on his face. 

“I am _not_ avoiding you, Hao,” the book on his lap almost falls as he sits up just a tad, and he grabs it swiftly, pausing for a moment, “I’m just busy.”

“You know what I mean, hyung, don’t play dumb.”

Minghao can’t help but get frustrated. And frustration means automatically getting mad. 

“Seriously, you’re making a fuss out of—”

“A fuss? You haven’t even _kissed_ me in an entire week, what am I supposed to think?” He rambles, attempts to not stumble over his words. He wants Joshua to understand how he’s feeling, but all he gets is a serious, dull expression.

“Couple have _those moments_ , Hao, I think you’re just overreacting,” he calmly says. And for some reason, his voice trembles. Minghao feels bad. 

“I know I am, but if we’re gonna be a couple that have _those moments_ then I’d rather talk about it, not just start avoiding each other,” Minghao states, firm. He stares sharply at Joshua who doesn’t even budge at the strong words Minghao throws so carelessly at him. He doesn’t budge and it only _worries_ him more. 

“I’m sorry,” is all he says. 

Forgiveness can’t fix what’s been so slowly building up for over a month, Minghao knows, but he still gives in and tightly embraces Joshua. He can feel him tensing up. It’s just _sad_.

“It’s okay,” Minghao murmurs, “couples have rough patches.”

Couples have sad moments, couples fight.   
  
(Minghao likes to think it’s okay even if Joshua asks him to not wait for him in bed because he wants to stay up reading and the light will bother him.)

He wakes up to an empty bed and Joshua sleeping on the sofa.

-

Family has always been a rather sensitive topic to discuss.

Because Minghao’s parents know, and support him, but Joshua comes from a very different family that doesn’t entirely accept their relationship, so they cut off contact quickly after they came out. 

That night, Joshua cried on his chest for an exact hour, lamenting it as if he had lost everything. A week after, he only regretted not fighting back. But Minghao always knew—they were still his parents. 

They still are, and Minghao is very aware of that.

“I—, I don’t know if I can attend,” Joshua stutters, gulping, He’s nervous from head to toe, just like the first time he went over to meet Minghao’s family. This time, it’s a different kind of nervousness. 

“They invited you, don’t be dumb,” he attempts to joke around, grinning. It’s been a while since they both smiled sincerely. Almost a month. 

“I know, but work doesn’t let me sleep, and I’m tired,” as he explains, Minghao narrows his eyes at him.

“Is it really work?”

“What?” 

“What’s been keeping you up, is it work?”

“I’m just stressed overall,” now he replies, but his fingers shake, and Minghao wants to keep him safe inside a crystal box even if he’s hurting him too. “I have a lot to do, and we’re not in the best terms, so I feel bad, and—”

“Don’t worry,” Minghao takes a hold of his hand. Lately, he’s been tip-toeing around contact in order to avoid making Joshua uncomfortable, but it’s a matter that gives him sleepless nights and dark circles under his eyes too. “We will make this work, I just want you to trust me and be honest, y’know, I want to understand you.”

“I know,” Joshua mumbles, “I know. I’m not deserving.”

“You are.”

“I’m not deserving of love, _your_ love,” he laments. God, Minghao will break down if he doesn’t stop. 

“You are, shut up, God,” he pats his back, a tear falls and lands on Joshua’s hair. “I just want you to sleep first, okay?”

“Okay.”

There’s cold tea on the table, and an unanswered invitation from his mother, but Minghao watches as Joshua finally lays down on _their_ bed, and exhales a sigh of relief. 

  
\-   
  
One night, Joshua wakes up at 2:02 a.m and walks straight to the kitchen. 

Minghao hears him, he’s boiling water probably to make tea, but he still pretends to be asleep. It’s still warm beside him.

(In any other situation, he’d considered it to be sad, to roll around and lay on Joshua’s side, but as of now, Minghao is incapable of caring).

Once Joshua is seemingly done, Minghao hears the door of the balcony being opened and then closed, and once it’s silent again, he decides to give up. There’s no point in waiting awake nor follow him and talk—maybe all he has to do is trust.

Trust. _Trust_. Minghao repeats it like a mantra. And then Joshua’s phone vibrates on his bedside table. 

When trust is broken in a relationship, when secrets are kept hidden under lock and key, when lies are all that’s said, Minghao thinks that shouldn't be called a relationship. Yet, he grabs Joshua’s phone and stares at the screen. 

**Mom**

_Please, trust God_

_You need someone who can really love you_

_Let me see you, alone_

_We can talk Joshua_

It’s broken. Not their relationship, but trust. And Minghao doesn’t know how to work around that, he’s not an expert, he’s not perfect, he just wants them to be in good terms again. Minghao wants Joshua to be happy and nothing else. 

The balcony door stays closed until Minghao falls back asleep. 

-

“I told my family we won’t be going,” Minghao comments first thing in the morning. He’s pretending to be preparing coffee only to avoid facing Joshua.

“Oh, okay,” he says in a low voice, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Minghao says. There are already tears in his eyes. “It’s all fine.”

Joshua clearly senses it, they are a couple after all. There might be lies and secrets, but a relationship exists where love can’t be ignored. “Are you okay, Hao?”

“I am, sorry, I’m just a bit sensitive,” he giggles. It doesn’t work. Joshua stands beside him and frowns as he notices his red eyes.

“Sensitive? Why are you crying?”

His voice, his pure concern and tender words, it all makes him break down. Tears stream down his face like an open faucet, like every time Joshua washes the dishes and gets distracted by something and it becomes an infinite stream of water. Minghao can’t help it, he cries, hiccups, and turns around so Joshua doesn’t _see_. 

(When did they get to such a low point?) 

“Hey,” he attempts to comfort him by caressing his back and it only makes Minghao wail even more, so he whispers: “ _God_.”

“Do you really love me?” Minghao finally asks, in between small breaths.

“Why? Why are you asking?” Without looking, he can feel Joshua panicking, not knowing what to do, where to touch him, what to say. They’ve got to this point themselves, he guesses.

“You told me you love me, but _do you_?”

“I…” 

It breaks his heart, fully. Shatters it in a million pieces, so tiny they might never glue back together. It’s a sharp and agonizing pain that suddenly makes the air inside his lungs vanish. Like a punch in the stomach. Just that single second, that single stutter, doubting himself. Minghao attempts to breathe evenly and fails. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Just leave.”

He does. As easily as he has done before, as quietly as he does at night, as hurtful as possible. Joshua grabs his keys and flees. 

There’s an empty spot in their bed that was never warm, now. 

-

Minghao is not usually a dreamer.

As in, he never remembers his dreams. But that night, after Joshua left, he had a dream that left an imprint in his brain hours after he woke up. A dream that made his stomach churn as soon as he opened his eyes and realized—he’s gone. 

A happy place for them is the park at the end of their street, while children are at school and it’s lonely, peaceful and quiet. Inside his dream, they both were waiting for something. Someone. Smiley and playful, Joshua sat down on the grass and patted his thigh for Minghao to place his head there. He did. (In reality, he didn’t). Fingers ran through his hair. It felt real. (It wasn’t). Birds chirped as the afternoon passed by uneventfully and silently, with Joshua only humming softly a song that now he recognizes as the one they sang at Church on Sundays. Moments, seconds before Minghao woke up, the voice of a child greeted them, and soon enough, all Minghao was seeing was the emptiness and sadness their room contains now. 

(It’s funny to say that it contains emptiness, Minghao reasons, but that emptiness is so palpable he thinks it might as well be physical). 

Waking up to no calls nor text messages is not worrying but disheartening, disappointing. No matter how many possibilities his brain attempts to come up with, he won’t be the first to give up. He won’t give in. 

That day, Minghao visits the park. It’s full of kids. 

-

**Josh <3**   
_Can we talk?_  
 _Not at home_  
 _Somewhere else_

**Minghao  
** _i don’t know if i wanna talk_   
_i don’t know if ieven wanna hear your reasoning_

**Josh <3**   
_If I’m going to be apologizing I’ll do it in person_  
 _So please, give me a chance_

Minghao does. He always does. Because he still trusts him, because he still loves him. 

At the café, Minghao places his hands on the table and sees them shaking. And the moment he watches Joshua walk in, he hides them from sight. No, he’s not weak. (He’s not fragile, he’s not a toy). 

“Hey,” it hurts. Joshua’s voice is too soft, too delicate. 

“Hi.”

He takes a seat, looks down, glances up at Minghao and gulps. Minghao can see how much he’s struggling. 

“My mother contacted me again,” he starts, and Minghao already feels guilty for _knowing_ that, “she’s been texting me for a while pretending to be okay with our relationship. We went to church together one day, and made me confess all my sins.”

Minghao’s eyes water. 

“She said I wasn’t pure enough yet, I needed to find my true and real self,” Joshua continues, “Hao, I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you, I don’t know why her words affected me. I felt so dirty, I felt like _wanting_ you was wrong.” 

“It’s not, you’re not, I swear—”

“I know I’m not, consciously. But my brain plays tricks on me sometimes, tells me I’m never going to heaven, tells me I’m just a bad person for going against my faith,” he places both hands, open, on the table, and stares deeply into Minghao’s wet eyes, “but with you, I know I’m not. I know my faith, I know who I love and who I don’t.” 

As Minghao finally puts his hands on Joshua’s and their finger lace together, a tear falls. 

“I love _you_ , that’s all. And I should’ve told you earlier, I know—”

“I love you.”

Joshua smiles. Minghao falls even harder. 

-

  
It’s hard to unlearn something, lose your conviction. 

Yet, Joshua is very aware of what’s he’s been through, and although Minghao is going as easy as possible, Joshua seemingly accepted himself (once again) pretty quickly. 

“We need to get married, these taxes are too much for our part time jobs,” Joshua says, fixing his glasses and going through what Minghao just calls _adult papers_. 

The word marriage, though, catches his attention, “Marriage, huh?”

“Too soon?”

Of course, he’s referring to the recent events and not their relationship. Or both. Who knows. Minghao still trembles, full body. 

“Yeah but, we can get fake married,” Minghao jokes. 

“I’m already yours, no need to get married,” Joshua says, just like that, as if he’s not making Minghao’s heart beat unevenly.

“Stop saying stuff like that,” he mumbles. “It makes my heart hurt.” 

“I’m sorry,” Joshua smiles, prettily, in that way that turns his eyes into crescents and tiny indents appear on his cheeks. “I can’t help it.” 

He has an innate talent to fix broken hearts, apparently.

  
-

  
  


The park at night is even prettier. 

Quieter than ever, with only their footsteps being audible around it. Tall trees, at night, with almost no light should be scary, really. But Joshua likes to point at shapes they make, so it becomes a hobby, a fun one. 

“That one looks like a cloud.”

“Of course it does, that’s too common,” Minghao counters. 

Joshua rolls his eyes and continues looking up at the trees. 

“Oh, look there!” Exclaiming, he suddenly points at the sky. “That’s _Sirius_.”

It takes a moment for Minghao to realize he’s talking about a _star_ , so he reaches up to adjust his glasses and focus on it. It’s the brightest in the sky. Minghao likes to thing that’s how Joshua looks between other people. 

“I thought it was Venus?”

A gentle breeze ruffles Joshua’s hair. “No! That’s at dawn, the brightest object in the sky is Venus for a while.”

“Oh,” Minghao says, “that’s good to know.” 

“Stop mocking me!”

“I’m not!”

“Okay, then,” he turns around, walks up to him and shifts his head until their noses are an inch apart, “no kisses for you.”

And with that, he continues walking with a smirk on his face. 

“That’s not fair!”

-

Kissing is good.

Because Joshua has always been careful and delicate, soft and _mellow_. And Minghao is the opposite, he wants it all in the moment, greediness taking over him, hands going everywhere. Somehow, they balance each other and work out. 

Minghao places a kiss on Joshua’s nose and then pecks his lips, smiling. Once, twice, thrice. He doesn’t stop until it’s Joshua who, seemingly tired of teasing, grabs his face and deepens the kiss, opening his mouth so they slot together and moves. 

It turns his blood into fire. 

They continue kissing on the couch, like teenagers do, while the TV plays _Avatar_ and the microwave keeps beeping. Yet, as Joshua doesn’t mind and Minghao is too preoccupied with keeping up with Joshua’s pace, they enter what Minghao likes to call the _love bubble_. 

“Your,” Joshua kisses him again, “your tea will get cold.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You never—”

Again, there are lips on him that swallow every word he was prepared to say. 

“I said I don’t mind.”

So, now they don’t mind. 

-

Minghao puts down his brush and tilts his head to his right.

It’s a black background, small patches of blue, all covered with a spectrum of yellow and white dots. That’s Minghao’s night sky. The balcony is filled with their fake plants and dead cacti, and this time, Minghao paints himself beside Joshua, not as an observer, but as part of the story. 

Joshua comes up from behind him and points at something on his canvas. 

“ _Sirius_ is missing.”

Then, Minghao makes the dot bigger with the tip of his brush. 

“What do you think?”

“That I’m sleepy,” he smiles, “and that I love you.”

It’s not cold anymore, now, it’s filled. The space in their bed that became such an important factor is now back to its normal state. Minghao stays up gazing at the way Joshua’s eyes gradually fall closed, his breathing slowing down. 

He watches Joshua drift off and wakes up to two arms enclosing his waist. 

**Author's Note:**

> [ if you want to commission me here's the info! ](https://twitter.com/ten__wv/status/1227424252330115073?s=21)


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